Scott T. Summers The 2River View, 9.2 (Winter 2005)
Cleaning Gutters

for Michael Mandel

I’d rather watch bubbles float
on the surface of a stale cabernet
in a deep corner of the Bowery,
in the dark, near a candle,
on a wooden chair
that refuses to conform
to my ass while a saxophone
slurs its master's grief.

Kerouac, seeping Odysseus,
slaps my back, invites me to piss
with him in the alley.

Cats scatter, dive
into sewers,
their cries echo
against the dank brick
of subterranean walls.

Jack says Dig that sound,
zips up before me,
slips into night.

Trumpet sings now.
Slide with that poetry.
It's a sad sound, like the cats.

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